


March 2018, Austin

by germanjj



Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Charmie, First Time, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: Sometimes love is so clear to see, visible for everyone around you, and yet you're not able to reach out and touch it, grab it, pull it towards you. It's like it's buried under clear glass.And sometimes, it bubbles to the surface even if you try to push it down.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657570
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	March 2018, Austin

It is a rare occurrence when I realize in a moment that I'm truly happy. That I step outside my head for long enough to look around and take in everything and everyone around me and know how lucky I am. Like hitting pause and leaving my own body to look down and appreciate what was given to me. What I had fought for. 

The award at my feet, my wife and Timmy and friends and coworkers around the table, sharing delicious food - it is one of those moments. I do stop. I let myself be for a precious moment and sit with the feeling of being grateful. My heart expands in size, filled to the brim with love for all of it. And all of them.

My wife catches my gaze and smiles. She's deep in a discussion that I have missed that last minute of while I was hitting pause and feel no rush to pick it up again. I turn to Timmy next to me and let my eyes linger on his face while he's listening to that same conversation. The speech he gave just a few hours ago is still ringing in my ear. I had wanted to ask for his notes to compare how much shorter it would have been if he'd stuck to the script. To see what parts had come to him right then and there. But he's so engrossed in his own world that I don't want to break the moment. So I find myself looking at him instead. At his eyes dancing, his expression never settling for too long. 

I doubt that any time I have told him how talented and phenomenal and deserving he is, he had believed me. That's what my mind stumbles on when he does the thing where he nods in the way of rocking back and forth and then throwing his head back in laughter. That he doesn't know how vital he is to all this, how amazing he will be. I want to push the award towards him with my foot to let him know how immensely proud of him I am, how none of this would have happened had it not been for him at my side. And then I feel torn between wanting him to know that and wanting to preserve his innocence, his purity, a little while longer. 

Timmy finally senses me watching him and his eyes flicker up to me. 

My stomach drops. 

He looks away too fast, a brief look full of guilt that is gone the next second as if it hadn't been there in the first place, but I've had spent months to learn to read him, to understand what he doesn't show, to pay attention when he tries to hide. Something is off.

I nudge his knee with mine, prompting him to look up again, and furrow my brows in a silent question.

He shakes his head. Just barely, just enough for me to understand his answer. _'Not yet, not here. I don't wanna talk about it.'_

I let it go at first. I suspect that he doesn't want to spoil my night and thinks pretending he's okay will convince me to pay him no attention. But he grows more and more restless as the night progresses as if his control is slipping away from him, not yet trained to hide what he feels for hours at a time. His nervous energy is seeping into my skin like he's bleeding it out and me, being closest to him, absorbing it like a sponge. I'm almost sure no one else notices.

Not a full hour after I asked the first time, my patience runs out. 

I brush my finger against his arm and his head turns towards me immediately. 

There's always a jolt running through me when he does that. When he responds like that to our own language. Light touches and silent conversation; both of us so in-tuned with the other, it doesn't take more than a brush of an arm or a tip against a leg, as if the intention to communicate is what travels between the two of us and the physical touch is merely a charade, a play, that is not actually needed but tethers us and those who surround us to normalcy. 

I raise my eyebrow at him and insist this time when he tries to brush me off. He gives in then, standing up and excusing himself. 

I follow a minute later, feeling oddly like two lovers sneaking away. I snicker at the thought, brushing off that feeling, and I find him around the corner by the restrooms.

It is quiet here and empty, a desk and two armchairs just out of sight of the main room and far enough from the actual restrooms to still feel cozy enough. A man walks past us without sparing us any attention and closes the door behind him. We don't sit down. 

"Spill."

He worries his lips and lets his hands comb through his hair. "I'm so sorry, I don't wanna ruin your night, man. I'm just a little bit off."

"You're not ruining anything, you couldn't! You've _made_ my night! Tim, that speech was everything I could have wished for!"

A smile flickers over his face that he can't seem to help. Sheepish and proud. 

"Now, what's up?"

"I-," his eyes don't meet mine. He's trying to find the right words, opening his mouth without anything coming out and then closing it again. He starts and stops three times until he takes a deep breath. "I guess I just realized. This is really it. It's really over."

"What?" That startles a laugh out of me." Timmy, I'm not going anywhere."

"No! I- I know that! But like- you will go back to your family and LA, and you will do other projects, and I will go back to New York and do other projects and then before you know it-."

"Stop. Timmy, stop." I step into his space, placing my hands on his shoulders to stop his flow of words. "If you don't wanna get rid of me, you're not gonna get rid of me, okay?" I was trying to tease, but all that comes out of my mouth sounds gentle and sincere. 

Timmy looks at me and I can see how worked up about this he is, a hand fidgeting against my side. I love his honesty. How he is not trying to play down what he's feeling or making fun of what I said. Instead, he says: "You promise that?" and it sounds deeply uncertain.

"I promise you," I say, never having been more sure about anything else in my life. "I will call you so much, you will beg me to leave you al-." 

I don't get to finish that sentence as Timmy surges forward, pulling me towards him, and pressing a kiss to my lips.

My mind stutters to a halt. The moment doesn't last long and there's nothing sexual about it, only so much balled up love that I can feel every inch of it through his lips, as he's pressing all that he feels into my body, which in turn is expanding, making room for what he's willing to give and welcoming it with open arms. 

He pulls away and throws his arms around me, and I find myself wrapping mine around him, pulling him tight. 

The hug feels like love, too.

"I love you, Tim," I whisper into his curls, and it feels somehow less than what he was trying to tell me but I don't know how to change that, how to express that I match him every step of the way. "I'm never gonna let you go as long as you don't want me to."

Fuck the award under the table or the nominations or accolades or opportunities coming from this movie. I'd trade everything up if I had to choose only one thing from it I could keep. I would choose Timmy every goddamn time. 

"Is this a kiss I have to apologize to Liz for?" I hear him say, still muffled against my shoulder where he doesn't move an inch, holding on to me with all his weight, and can't tell if he's making a joke. 

I feel my face heat at the thought that he isn't. 

"Nah, don't worry about it," I tell him and wonder if that's true.


End file.
